


young loves

by izadreamer



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Balcony Scene, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Secret Identity, the irony is strong with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a mystery, and Chat has always been weak to curiosity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas gift fic for a friend, who requested fluff and marichat.

 

There is nothing quite like the sight of Paris at night.

When the sun sets and the blue sky grows dark, the city illuminates in response. Monuments beam and dazzle, apartment windows brighten, and the streetlamps, all wrought iron and looking like something out of a fairy tale, cast an unwavering glow of soft golden light to cut through the growing shadows. When darkness falls, Paris _gleams_.

Of course, Adrien has always known that—he lives here, after all, has lived in this city of art and light and romance his whole life. Its reputation is lost on him, most days. Paris is spectacular, but there is very little wonder for him, no awe like that he can see in the eyes of tourists. To them, Paris is a fable, a city of dreams. To Adrien, it’s simply home. _His_.

Since becoming Chat Noir, however, he’s gained a deeper appreciation for it. It is one thing to walk the streets, and see the lights turn on. It is quite another to view them from the top of the Eiffel Tower, or on a roof high above ground. Light pollution hides their galaxies from view—but at these heights, Paris is its own night sky.

When Adrien had first seen it; it stole his breath. In that moment, caught between earth and sky and watching the world slowly start to shine beneath his feet, he’d realized why poets had bothered to write sonnets for his city in the first place.

This wonder, this beauty that he’d never known, creates a new hobby. Adrien is Chat Noir, now, defender of Paris. This means many things, but besides the superhero gig, it also means this: Paris is his, now. His responsibility. His goal. His city.

He falls in love with his city a little more each time he sees it. And perhaps Adrien needs that, too—love, to care and to protect. His father’s house feels so far removed from the rest of the world, never mind the city. In the absence of his father’s warmth and kindness, Adrien turns to Paris.

The Eiffel Tower is his favorite place to city watch, on the nights he and Ladybug don’t plan patrol. The Champs-Élysées, the Louvre… all good places to perch and watch the city. But his most frequented place isn’t the Eiffel Tower—it’s the apartment complex just across from the Dupain bakery.

In an objective standpoint, it’s not a bad pick. Not so high, no, but the streets are close and well-lit. The glow seems to sink into the air itself. Some days he can smell whatever it is they’re baking in there, something sweet and doughy. It’s heavenly.

And beyond that—it’s where Marinette Dupain-Cheng lives. Chat’s personal (secret) pet project.

It started, as most things do, on a whim.

Whims are some of the most powerful things—hasty, unplanned, and left almost entirely to fate and happenstance. Perhaps this is why most whims leave behind either great change or great destruction in their wake: in the absence of control, there is only chaos.

Chat Noir knows Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He’s worked with her before on multiple occasions, and as Adrien, he sees her every day at school. It’s true that the Marinette he sees as Chat and the Marinette he sees as Adrien are different, but then, so is her relationship with the two. It doesn’t really bother him.

No—that first night, jumping rooftops to reach the meeting place where he is to catch up with his Lady, only luck places him in the area when Marinette slides back her balcony doors and goes to stare up at the sky. She’s still dressed in her usual cardigan and jeans from school, hair pulled back into neat pigtails. When she sees him she smiles, so bright and so kind, and waves as he passes.

There is no great excuse for why Chat Noir frequents here, not really—but for some reason that momentary interaction had shaken him to his core, and that bright smile she’d given him, so fond and knowing and so unlike the stuttering Marinette he sees everyday… it had captivated him. It still captivates him.

He doesn’t linger on her street to catch a glimpse of her, or to stalk her or anything—that’s just creepy, and not what Chat is there for at all. It’s more… an accident. He’s curious, and his curiosity is a palatable thing. He tells himself it doesn’t matter but his feet lead him here anyways. It’s just his mind—the knowledge that she doesn’t really know him as Chat and the fact he doesn’t really have anything specific to say that stalls him, keeps him from knocking on her door or window and seeing that sunbeam-bright smile once more.

But still—curiosity is not so easily deterred. And so he is here, again and again, nose filled with smell of baking pastries and breath misting out into the cold air as he watches the quiet street with interest.

It only because of this accidental habit that Chat is there when Marinette opens her balcony door. She’s got a broom in one hand and is covering her yawning mouth with the other. She sweeps with half-hearted, aborted motions. She looks tired. Exhausted. She’s working but he thinks her mind is far away, to another time and place.

After a moment—Chat still too surprised and nervous to react, be it to hide or say hello—she sighs, heavily, and sets the broom precariously on the railing, leaning beside it. Her head is bowed; hair down from their signature pigtails. She's dressed in dark PJs and a blue cardigan, staring out with a strange, sober expression that strikes him as familiar.

She looks lonely. With her eyes half-lidded and shoulders slumped too far to be relaxation, her head bowed—yes, she looks lonely, and wouldn’t Chat Noir know? He’s seen loneliness more than enough, from victims and classmates and his very own mirror.

She looks lonely, and tired, and sad, and Chat—Chat has always been a soft heart.

He knows Marinette from school, after all, and her fluster is familiar to him. Marinette, he feels sometimes, is an object in motion—always moving, always reacting. Her whole self reflects that. And that was fine, he’d understood that—until Marinette met Chat and there's every expectation over on its head.

Marinette is easily flustered, often tongue-tied, with a temper like a whip (or so he's heard). She’s good at video games, at baking, at making clothes. She’ll be a great designer someday. This is the Marinette Adrien knows.

The Marinette Chat Noir meets: angry, willful, in control and in charge and willing to wrestle supervillains to the ground if she has to. That Marinette—any Marinette—should never have to look like that. Should never look _lonely_ , not when she’s the last person on earth to ever deserve it.

He doesn’t want to leave here remembering that look on her face, not if there’s something he can do to help. She’s his friend after all, distant though Marinette is to Adrien. She deserves to smile that sun-beam smile, she deserves to laugh, she deserves—happiness.

He wants her to be happy.

And this time it isn’t hard at all to approach her, to flip and fly and tumble his way over to her balcony. He lands feet first on the wrought-iron railing, one hand touching his chest; the other flung out to the side. Sometimes silliness is the best cure.

“My fair Miss!” Chat proclaims dramatically, because Lady is for one person alone. He shifts his feet with a wider stance, chest puffing out, head tilted back—the picture of drama. He grins. Cracks open an eye, about to continue his speech—and catches sight of the broom right as it hits him.

“Oof!”

“Oh my god!”

Chat tilts precariously, winded from the blow, hyper aware of the empty drop behind him. Mariette's shrill cry of “Chat? _Chat?!_ ” echoes in his ears, and he winces away, towards the edge—

A manicured hand grips his, pulling him back to the balcony in one swift tug. Chat goes down on his knees. “Wow,” he says, through winded breath. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, Princess?”

“Chat!” Her eyebrows go up, up, up; blue eyes are wide. Her thin lips pull into a terse frown, brows creasing. Her eyes flicker up and down his body like she can physically will wounds into being. “Are you all right!?”

Chat laughs, startled. “Fine, fine! A cat always lands on his feet, Princess, don’t you know?”

Marinette blows out a breath, and it makes her cheeks go round like a chipmunk's. “You’re fine,” she confirms dryly, and then she blinks. “Wait, what are—why are you _here_? Is something wrong?”

Ah. He should of thought of this, really, but his actions had been more instinct than thought. He’d wanted her to stop looking so lonely, and the solution to that was to make her laugh, but obviously— _obviously_ —the presence of a superhero was likely a bad one. Chat saves the world, sure, but when he’s around the villains tend to be close by.

He coughs into his fist. “Oh, no! No. Everything’s fine. It’s just…” He clears his throat, mind whirling, and well—he’s here, isn’t he? So maybe he should try and do whatever it is his instincts want him to. “Well, Princess, curiosity has long since been a cat’s…. acquaintance.”

“Or killer.” Marinette’s tone is teasing.

Chat coughs. “…There is that. But! Satisfaction is a feline’s best friend, meowthinks.”

Marinette shakes her head, a fond grin pulling at her mouth. Her eyes are bright. “That was awful.”

Chat shrugs at her, unrepentant. He rolls to his feet in one fluid movement, grin in place and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ll do better,” he says, cheerful. “Paw-mise.”

She sighs, again, buts it more exasperated than sad and he gleefully counts it as a victory. He watches as she rubs a hand through mused dark hair, scrunches her nose at him, shoulders rising and falling.

She's fascinating, Marinette—so many emotions in every movement. Bold, brave, witty…this is a side he rarely sees, and every time he does it leaves him a little out of breath.

“But really,” Marinette says. “Why are you here?”

Chat hums, thinking about it. “Dunno. You looked…” he tries to find the right word. “Lonely? So. I—yeah.”

“Lonely,” Marinette repeats, a little dully.

“Lonely,” Chat confirms, and he would know, wouldn’t he? And maybe it because of that he seeks her out, honestly, but maybe it also because of this—because half a year ago Nino pulled down his headphones and looked him the eyes and smiled, and Alya dug an elbow into his ribs and Marinette stuttered and smiled like the sun and Ladybug laughed—

Chat used to be lonely and he isn’t anymore, and he thinks—he thinks he wants to pass that on, if he can. To Marinette especially, because Marinette is kind even in her clumsiness, and her hidden temper always flares when others are threatened. She helped him once and now he wants to help her.

“So!” Chat continues loudly and grandly as he avoids those tell-tale depressing thoughts. He bows to her, grinning. “Here am I, to keep you company on this cold and dark night. Uh—” It strikes him suddenly, how rude this might be, and he clears his throat, flushing faintly. “If you’re okay with that?”

Marinette shrugs, tugging at her cardigan. “I’m not lonely,” she protests, a little insistently. “I’m just… reflecting. On things. It’s not—I’m not—lonely.”

“Ah.” Chat says, and clears his throat. His cheeks are red and he feels a little feverish, like the floor just dropped from underneath him. “I, uh—I’m sorry, then—I didn’t mean to…”

Marinette blanches. “Oh! No, I just meant…. oh, blast it, I didn’t—I’m not lonely, or anything, but I wouldn’t… I’m not….” She giggles softly in embarrassment, one hand clapping over her forehead in self-reprove, and her voice is muffled. It's so like Marinette it makes him blink. “I’d like you to—I wouldn’t mind…. You can stay. I mean. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh,” Chat says, a bit at a loss. His chest feels warm; his throat is tight with the same emotion. “Okay, then.” A small girl curls his lips. “If you're, ah… feline up to it.”

Marinette groans aloud, tugging at her hair, but when her hands fall away her expression is one of reluctant amusement. Chat rejoices. “That was still awful.”

“Pawful?”

“Ugh.”

He laughs, and she sighs, and the air between them is relaxed in a way it never is at school. Chat Noir brings out a side of Marinette Adrien never sees, and it fascinates him, this glimpse of her. People are many layers, many forms, but it's one thing to know that and quite another to see one Marinette in the place of the other.

“So,” he says, once the laughter faded and they’ve returned to their shared stargazing. “Reflecting, huh? What about?”

Marinette snorts. “Subtle, kitty. It’s not important.”

“I am dressed in black, I am plenty subtle.”

“Dressed in black while fighting broad daylight!”

“Sometimes we fight at night! And then I am but a shadow, a humble creature of the night.”

She scoffs again, but this time her smile is visible and clearly amused. The fluttery feeling in his chest returns full force. Chat can’t help but grin back at her. Marinette doesn’t smile like that at him as Adrien, not often. At some point in the past few hours he’s made it a life goal to see as many of her smiles as he can.

Marinette huffs, a lock falling over her eyes. Chat valiantly resists the urge to brush it behind her ear. “Romance issues,” she announces abruptly, and when he tilts his head, she clarifies. “That’s what I was thinking about. See? Nothing important.”

“Tell me,” Chat insists. When she just looks dubious, he shakes his head at her, scolding. “It's obviously important to you! And besides, Princess, though you may not know it— " Again, he places a hand on his chest— “I happen to have some romance issues of my own. Perhaps we can compare notes.”

There’s a weird little smile on Marinette’s face—half-disbelief, half-exasperation, like she’s stumbled upon a joke only she knows the punchline to. It fades quickly though, replaced by thought. Finally, Marinette exhales a long breath.

“There’s a boy I like,” she confesses finally, and her cheeks burn bright red. “He’s… wow, he’s amazing. He’s so talented but he’s also so humble, and kind, and caring, and his smile is just…” she trails off. “He’s wonderful,” she continues awkwardly. “But he just—I mean… I don’t think he notices me. Ever. So, I guess… It’s not that big a deal. It just hurts, sometimes.”

And Chat thinks of Ladybug, of how quickly she brushes his flirtations aside, how quickly she treats them as a joke—and he can relate, can’t he? And it's a little sad to think that too is happening to Marinette—brilliant Marinette, with her fiery temper and heart of gold—and it make him wonder what kind of person could miss her. If they realize what they’re missing. If he knows them.

“Sounds a bit like an idiot, to me,” Chat announces matter-of-factly, and when she rolls her eyes at him he leans towards her, suddenly serious. “You’re wonderful, you know. As much as this—” he waggles his eyebrows her, “—mysterious boy is. You’re creative and clever, and funny. You helped superheroes fight supervillains! I don’t think I’ll ever meet a civilian girl as brave as you, you know.”

Marinette blinks at him, stunned into quiet. She’s staring at him like she’s seeing him for the first time and it makes Chat flustered, all that weight on him, all those expectations. Flustered, but pleased, too—she’s listening. She’s hearing him. He’s doing good after all.

“Anyone would be lucky to know you, Marinette,” he tells her, “and even luckier to be with you.”

The small smile she gives him is breathtaking. “Really?”

“Most paw-sitively,” he says, and her laughter is loud and sudden—startled right out of her, and pleasure curls around Chat’s heart like a cat around a fire. He can’t keep his grin from growing.

The sight of her—dressed in warm winter PJs with a hand over her growing smile, hair down and mused from pillows, shiny in the dim light from her room—makes him bold. Before he can even think of what he is doing Chat has already darted forward.

The kiss he presses against her cheek is quick and chaste, chapped lips against a smooth cheek. He pulls away with cheeks burning bright red at his own impulsiveness.

Marinette looks stunned. Her hand rises to her cheek. Her face tinges pink. But a small smile tugs at the edge of her open-mouth surprise, and something in Chat loosens at the sight of it.

“Another day, Princess,” Chat tells her, softly, and tips over the edge of a balcony with a grin.

When he looks back a few moments later it is to see Marinette, still on her balcony, smile small but fond and a hand still grazing where he’d kissed her cheek.

Chat flutters his fingers over his own lips, remembering that soft brush—feels his cheeks heat and shakes his head to free it from the clouds, before disappearing back into the darkness of the streets.

 


End file.
